Her mother rocks in her creaky chair as the storm surges. Four children huddle at her feet, arms and legs entangled. Lightning flashes and illuminates the room, thunder quickly booming after. Annie presses Robert's sobbing head into her shirt, muffling his cries. As she whispers into his ear, he grins faintly. Young Trace's eyes widen at her mind's revelation. "Papa's not here!"

Cecil, the oldest, strokes her hair, smoothly lies, "He's on the fishing boat. He'll be okay." Annie repeats the maxim in her head, polishing the words like coins. We'll be okay. We'll be okay…

The storm rages on.